Flipping Tables; Setting Tables

 Our Lenten Journey Continues 

I have a friend who has recently decided to throw off the gloves and start bare-knuckling evil wherever it may be found. I get it. There really is a lot of evil and it often feels that the quiet, steady work of suasion and service is getting us nowhere. At some point, we decide that we’re ready to change things one flaming Social Media post at a time and if someone is bothered by it then they’re part of the problem. At times, that kind of righteous anger is exactly what is called for. At other times it is simply another log that fuels the fire.  

 

Throughout this Lenten season we have been following the arc of Kathy Escobar’s book, Turning over Tables: A Lenten Call for Disrupting Power. In addition to a weekly gathering of those who are reading Escobar’s daily reflections, we have been studying and using the biblical texts that the book’s publisher, Westminster/John Knox Press, has developed to accompany the book. Hence, we have the six weekly themes that Escobar gives us in her book as our roadmap for this Lenten season. 

Our approach to last week’s theme, “Disrupt,” raised a lot of questions. The text that the publisher’s material provided was Luke 3:10-14, the story of John the Baptizer, telling the crowd to disrupt by sharing their food and clothing, then prohibiting tax collectors and soldiers from exploiting their power to oppress others. I don’t know about you, but I expected something a lot more dramatic – after all, our theme is “turning over tables!” But I suspect the crowd, the tax collectors, and the soldiers might have expected something more dramatic from John when they asked, “What should we do?” After all, John had no qualms about speaking truth to power and even lost his life for taking on Herod directly. 

 

If I were scheming this season around our six themes, I would have chosen to read the story of Jesus turning over tables for the week of “disrupt.” Part of my Lenten discipline has been to lean into the texts that the publisher provided, instead of doing my own thing (which is my wont.) And that has been a gift, especially this week. It helped me to notice that, long before Jesus turned over tables, he disrupted oppressive systems by sitting at tables with “the wrong crowd.” It shows that sometimes setting a table is more disruptive than flipping one. How powerful is that? It echoes everyone’s least favorite line from the 23^rd Psalm, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” It echoes the Proverb, “A soft answer turns away wrath.” It echoes that great story about Elisha in II Kings 6, when God blinded the enemy army and they wandered right into Israel’s stronghold. The king asked Elisha, “Can I strike them?” and he said, “No. Set food and water before them so that they may eat and drink, and let them go back to their master.” And it is like Jesus’ teachings, echoed in Paul’s writings, the if our enemy is hungry, we feed them. That’s disruption. 

 

Setting a table does not feel as immediately effective or anger-satisfying as flipping a table. And many of us do not express our anger because we are in a privileged place where the injustice that offends us does not directly harm us.  Anger is a real and genuine human emotion, but I do think, however, that we often overestimate our capacity for clear-thinking and self-control when we are angry. John Lewis and other Civil Rights advocates of the 1960’s followed the principle that, until we have cleansed ourselves of hate and are motivated by love for our neighbor, our anger will not achieve God’s purpose, because we will become no different our enemy. I think that is the primary lesson that most Christian Nationalists are ignoring with their chest-thumping cheers for violence. We cannot ignore anger or underestimate its destructive power. Our Lenten journey is calling us not to resort to quietism or to violence, but to disrupt unjust systems with truth and unanticipated love. 

 

With you on this journey,

Mark of St. Mark

 Friends, 

I returned this week from spending some time in Florida, first visiting my brothers and then attending a “Luminosity” conference in Orlando. (One special treat from the conference is that I was able to visit my Seminary roommate and his spouse, also a friend in Seminary, whose wedding I was part of. What a gift it is to be able to re-connect with friends after almost 40 years, seven children, and three grandchildren.) 

 

The conference was interesting, informative, and refreshing. Our last Plenary Speaker was Dr. Eric Barreto, a New Testament professor from Princeton Seminary, who began his presentation by saying something like, “I’m tired of people tell the story about a church that is losing, failing, and falling apart.” He went on to say that our narrative is a different narrative and demonstrated through the stories in the book of Acts how God is active in the world in ways that defy our definitions of success or failure. I had a hard time focusing on the next thing he would say, because everything he said set me off into an imaginative, learning conversation with the Scriptures. One moment, God comes into the human story with healing, the next with a table that welcomes the outcast, another moment with a clarifying story or enigmatic parable, another with bread, another calming a storm, raising the dead, giving an aged couple a child, teaching the centrality of love, and so on. The sheer multiplicity of ways that God works – often surprising and unexpected – fills me with humility when I consider what we are up to here at St. Mark. 

 

Think of our Session, for example. According to the Book of Order of the Presbyterian Church, our Session is a collection of eighteen elders, who have been elected by the congregation to work together to fulfill this mission: “The Session shall have responsibility for governing the congregation and guiding its witness to the sovereign activity of God in the world, so that the congregation is and becomes a community of faith, hope, love, and witness.” Notice the part that I have italicized. Our elders guide us as we point to what God is doing in the world, just as the Scriptures point to what God was doing in their day. We get to ask, “In what way is God calming the storm of our day?” “Where is God offering healing?” “Where is the table being widened?” “What has expired that will be raised to new life?” And most importantly, we ask, “How is God doing a new thing among us, surpassing our imaginations?” Even though so many of our energies are given to routine and necessary things like worship-planning and tree-pruning, even those activities take on new life when we remember that God is not dead, sleeping, retired, or bored with loving creation. 

 

So, that’s a taste of the “streams of consciousness” that our speakers evoked in me during the Luminosity conference. There were many more, but it will take me some time to organize them in my head before I can share them coherently. 

 

In the meantime, here we are in the midst of our Lenten theme, “Turning over Tables,” which I have found compelling. I hope you have, too. And thank you for providing such a kind welcome to Kate Forer, our guest preacher last weekend. I was able to watch the services and know that you heard a fabulous sermon. I’m glad Kate is such a friend of St. Mark.

 

See you in worship,

Mark of St. Mark

Outward Disciplines; Inward Transformation

 Friends,

Throughout this Lenten season – due to our readings of Kathy Escobar’s Turning over Tables, as well as our discussions in our book and text studies – I have been attuned to the process of transformation. It seems very complicated to me, starting with the character- and habit-formation that I learned at an early age. Some of who I am was taught intentionally by parenting, example, mentoring, Sunday School lessons, and the like. I learned much of it by simply observing and conforming to the habits of those around me. Much of it was good. I learned kindness, forgiveness, responsibility, and things of that nature. But, along the way, I also took on racist, ableist, patriarchal, heteronormative, and cis-gender presumptions. Nobody taught them deliberately, but I learned them anyway. And, like many of you, I have tried to eradicate many of those lessons from my heart and mind ever since. 

 

In the Christian tradition this eradication process is called sanctification. We don’t need the musty term to know the process. Think of the story of the People of Israel, journeying for 40 years in the desert to forget how to think and act like slaves in Egypt in order to live as God's people. In their anxieties about hunger and thirst - real anxieties, mind you - they often reverted to their enslaved mentalities. When God provided manna, they gathered more than they needed, because they did not trust that God would provide again the next day. For many of us – perhaps in a pique of anger, or when lowering our guard through intoxicants – we revert to the things we thought we had overcome, find ourselves saying or doing things that we regret, and later claim "That is not really who I am." 

 

But "Who am I?" we might ask, echoing Bonhoeffer's profound poem with that title. Are we the greed, racism, ableism, patriarchy, or heteronormativity that many of our communities taught us to be along the way? Or are we the disciple of Jesus Christ, refusing to conform to the world and being transformed as the Holy Spirit renews our minds? Are we both? Are we half-and-half? Wishy-Washy? Lukewarm? More good intention than good deeds? 

 

In the church, we tend to use the language of "yet, but not yet" to describe how the Reign of God comes through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. We may find it helpful to use similar language to describe the "yet, but not yet" nature of our sanctification. I think of the old hymn that says, "O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be." It does indeed seem that the journey out of the old habits and into new ways of being are a daily task, perhaps even a daily struggle. In plain language, the grace that brought us into the family of God through Christ is the grace that we rely on daily to live into the love and justice of Christ. We are, and we are not yet, saved from sin. 

 

But it is still complicated. I think one of the great deceits of our time is to imagine that we can simply ‘learn’ our way into transformation. I look at the “self-help” section of the library and wonder, “Who is the Mark that needs help and who is the Mark that is going to offer help to that Mark? Aren’t I the same guy?” And, during the season of Lent, I can focus on some determinable, conscious habits, like foregoing chocolate or reading a devotional daily. But chocolate is not the cause of my internalized racism or sexism, so I’ve been wondering how the cultivation of habits is connected to the transformation of character. Jesus once accused religious leaders tithing mint and dill, while ignoring the weightier matters of justice. I feel that if all of my Lenten energies are on what I’m eating or reading, I may also be ignoring weightier matters of character. 

 

That said, the season of Lent, for me, is that time when I attend to my daily, outward habits as a window into my inward need to be transformed at my core. And because I realize how much I struggle with the simple task of giving up or taking on something deliberately, I am keenly aware of my constant need for God’s grace to be transformed from within. 

 

What a humbling journey it is,

Mark of St. Mark

 

Do You See What I See?

 As many of you have noticed and commented, there are some radical changes that have taken place in our sanctuary over the last few weeks. I have heard nothing but positive feedback, but if you have any concerns, you are welcome to share those as well. 

 The first change is that we now have three monitors in our sanctuary for our projected images and words during worship. Aesthetically, the two monitors at the front of the sanctuary are equal in size, unlike the former setup with a large screen on the right and a smaller monitor mounted on the chancel floor. And, we were able to take the older, slightly smaller monitor that was on the floor and mount it in the back so the choir and liturgists can see what the rest of us see. Practically, the images on the screens are sharper and clearer and the height of the screens means you can sit behind that really tall person and still see everything! Many thanks to Jack Freytag, who put together the initial proposal for the screens, and Kathy Roberts who helped to shepherd the process along. And thanks to the elders on our session, who saw the original plans and allocated the funds for its installation. 

 

The second change that our worship commission has installed fabric and lettering for our Lenten décor. You can see “Reveal” which was our theme last week as we read the story of Blind Beggar Bartimaeus. This week is “Lament,” as we hear Jesus lamenting the state and fate of Jerusalem. Our use of décor during particular seasons of the church is to enable everyone who enters to have an immediate sense of what the season is about. This year, the worship commission asked Nikki Abejon to assist with the design and creation of the words that correspond with the themes of our six weeks of Lent, and Drew Abejon led the installation itself. And every season, Jeremy Smith has the unlovely task of climbing the extension ladder and doing the high-altitude stuff. It looks perfect. Thanks all around. 

 

I want to share a quick word about how we use the screens. When we first started, I approached the screens like projected bulletins – plain font for ‘one,’ and bold font for “all,” italics for lyrics, and other tricks of the trade. I learned that folks with macular degeneration have difficulty reading italics and bold font, so we quit using them for responsive, participatory words. In a workshop on inclusivity in worship, I discovered that there is a font for persons with dyslexia, but also that it works best in printed material and is difficult for those with vision challenges to read in projected words. So, we are constantly making adjustments, increasing font size, looking for the cleanest and most readable font, and other such things week after week. Since turning to the screens, we no longer use and recycle more than 200 bulletins each week. And, the screens enable us to use music that may not be in our hymnal, or alternate lyrics that are better suited to our theology. (Add screen technology to the list of “things they didn’t teach us in seminary.”)

 

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Now, a few announcements:

 

Tomorrow, February 28, SueJeanne Koh will go before the Presbytery for her final approval for ordination. Pray that all goes smoothly, as I believe it will. Soon we’ll announce her ordination service.

 

Are you, or is someone you know, a young adult with a passion for organizing for justice? CLUE has a 2026 Young Religious Leaders Fellowship opportunity for those who are passionate about economic justice and faith-rooted community organizing. Click here for details and how to apply. 

 

Did you know that there is a women-led prayer vigil for our immigrant community that pray for the disappeared every other Thursday at noon? They invite you to join them at the Santa Ana Immigration Court, 1231 E. Dyer Road in Santa Ana, March 5 and 12. Click here for more information. 

 

What do you know about homelessness in Orange County? United to End Homelessness is hosting a “Homelessness 101” class on Friday, March 6, from 12PM – 2PM in the United Way Orange County building, 18012 Mitchell South in Irvine. Click here for more information and to register. 

 

Continuing our Lenten Journey together,

Mark of St. Mark

Lenten Disciplines and Leadership

 Friends, 

We are now in the Season of Lent, which began on Ash Wednesday of this week. Thanks to those of you who joined us for a very tactile service of remembering our baptism and then remembering our mortality with the words, “From dust you have come, to dust you will return.” 

I did not grow up in a church that observed Lent, much less Ash Wednesday. Any idea I had about Lenten disciplines was a vague sense that my Catholic friends ate fish on Fridays, and some people suffered through giving up dessert for a time. Even now, after almost 40 years of being Presbyterian, I feel like I’m still a bit behind the curve. If you feel that way also, just know this wisdom that someone shared with me once: There’s no right way or wrong way to observe Lent. Many saints have come and gone without even knowing about it, so Lenten observance is not essential to the Christian life. 

That said, I find the observance of Lent to be a wonderful way of tapping into both my own needs and the call to follow Christ. It taps into my needs because life is rhythmic – a blend of cyclical, year-after-year rotations around the sun as well as new things that our creative God is always doing among us. And the observance of Lent invites us into a deeper sense of Jesus’ words, “If anyone will be my disciple, let them deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.” 

Earlier this week I reached out to many of the leaders that we have at St. Mark – the staff, our elders, and our deacons – to inquire if they were undertaking any Lenten disciplines that they would be willing to share with the rest of us. Because Lenten journeys are personal, I will not connect any names with the disciplines that others shared, but will give you an overview of the kinds of ways that we can drink deeply during this season. 

Some are being attentive to what they eat or drink: 

- Giving up a weekly stop after worship at a local restaurant for carnitas nachos (“they are the best!”); giving up chocolate; giving up meat on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, or completely; and avoiding junk foods like snack chips and French fries. 

- Avoiding tobacco, alcohol, or regular events where alcohol is the central focus. 

Some are taking on commitments: 

- Reading daily from the book Turning over Tables, by Kathy Escobar, and joining our weekly discussion on Wednesday evenings. 

- Watching our weekly Text Studies that are posted every Monday and joining the discussion on Wednesday mornings. 

- Reading Lenten devotionals online, such as the Presbyterians for Earth Care devotional found here.

-  Using the Lenten devotional within the Bible app, “Grow and Believe.” 

Some are tending an attending to their personal interactions: 

- intentionally avoiding or walking away from conversations that are “judgmental, critical, unkind, untrue, and unnecessary.

- being less hurried in my thoughts and physical presence.

Some are committing to daily or weekly routines:

- Exercising daily or a set number of times weekly

- Keeping a daily Lenten journal.

- Budgeting in order to make extra donations to our Deacon-supported organizations.

Some are trying to avoid conveniences that can have cumulative negative effects, such as: 

- Ordering food that comes in plastic containers

- Using Paypal or credit cards for online purchases.  

I remain impressed by the spiritual maturity and thoughtfulness that our leaders. And if any of these ideas inspire you, it’s not too late to step into either letting something go or taking something on for Lent. The point is not to see how heroic are sacrificial we can be, but to interrupt routines in order to live more intentionally as followers of Christ. May God bless you on that journey.

Mark of St. Mark

Doubly Marked

Doubly Marked 

And so, we gather.

A community doubly marked. 

The first is a watermark, 

generously bestowed on many of us 

at an age we don't remember. 

 

Time and again we hear the words: 

"Remember your baptism," 

assuring us that memory is more than 

what the mind retains. 

 

The second mark is the ash, 

one year oily; one year dry, 

each year a reminder 

in a solemn moment: 

"You are dust, 

and to dust you shall return." 

 

And so, we gather.

A community doubly marked. 

 

Declared on one occasion: 

"A beloved child of God." 

Declared on the other:

"Mortal, finite, destined to die." 

 

Both are true and one is 

as inescapable as the other. 

 

And so, we gather. 

A community doubly marked.

 

With varying degrees of 

doubt and certainty, 

pain and joy, 

confidence and fear, 

hope and despair, 

we gather. 

 

We gather because   

it is only by embracing our 

sure and certain death 

that we begin to live.

 

And so, we gather.

A community doubly marked.

 

A body, as it were, 

where each member is 

a microcosm of the cosmic truth:

“In life and in death, we belong to God.”

 

D. Mark Davis, 2026

Never Too Poor to Pay Attention

 ​Friends, 

I read this week that William James defined attention as “the sudden taking possession by the mind, in clear and vivid form, of one of what seems several simultaneously possible objects or trains of thought.” That comment drew me back into a thought bubble that I have been visiting for many years now, since reading Immanuel Kant description of the “act of attention” which he called aufmerkung, or 'marking out.’ Of all the sensations that bombard us in sight and sound at every moment, marking something out, paying attention, is a challenge.

 

Various writers along the way have tried to name what prevents us from paying attention. Neil Postman's 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves to Death, blamed television for reducing our ability to concentrate through an insatiable glut of entertainment. Imagine what Postman would have said about Tik-Tok or Facebook Reels if he were still with us. Daniel Goleman's 2013 book, Focus: The Hidden Driver of Excellence, argued that there are two types of “distractions,” the nemesis of attention - sensory overload from without and emotional stress from within. Kathleen Norris, in The Quotidian Mysteries, and Richard Rohr's morning devotions consistently draw us to see - really attend to – the depth and meaning of ordinary activities that we do daily. It's not easy to do when we endeavor to multi-task and measure ourselves by productivity. 

 

I suspect this is what Jesus was addressing in the Sermon on the Mount when he said, “If your eye is single your whole body will be full of light.” Modern translations make it “If your eye is healthy …” but I have always thought the King James translation - following its use in ancient Greek literature – captures the meaning best with “single.” 

 

If your eye is single, your whole body will be full of light. 

 

This singularity of vision - pushing past distractions from without or within to really see, concentrate, notice, appreciate - is what I value most about the season of Lent. Unlike a New Year's resolution that makes a bold commitment from now to whenever (usually petering out around January 14th), Lent is a finite, six-week period, during which we can commit ourselves to something with fervor and purpose. And as a season that leads us on Christ's journey to the cross, the gifts of this season - from opportunities to deny ourselves, to wearing the ashes of mortality, to confessing our shortcomings (even the arrogance of our will power), and losing ourselves in Christ - are endless. 

 

If you will excuse my alliterative tendencies, I think concentration is the key to consecration. Think of that moment when we are pouring wine from the pitcher to the chalice. The mesmerizing effect of such a common act of pouring a liquid becomes the gateway to hearing the words, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”  The presence of Christ in ordinary food and drink is hard to fathom when we have several apps opened all at once, with constant interruptions, or within the noise of everything, everywhere, all at once. When our eye is single, our whole body is full of the light of Jesus’ presence. 

 

Distraction-free time can be an elusive luxury for certain seasons in our lives, such as when raising children, starting down a career path, or undergoing a transition. So, I am throwing no shade here on those whose commitments to serving others don’t allow a lot of “God and Me” time. Still, I hope we can find ways to focus our attention in the mommastery as well as in the monastery. So, as we look for ways to engage with meaningful attention during this season of Lent, let’s begin by offering ourselves some grace. And let’s do this together.

 

Mark of St. Mark